Hero

23 Cataline

Some nights when I’m restless, I sleep with my eyes open. I read. My books are dreams I never want to wake up from. I’m in the library, between the pages of Les Misérables, when there’s a noise in the house. I sit up in my oversized chair. Keys jingle, and my palms sweat.

After learning about Lyla two nights earlier, I ran straight to the shower to scrub any trace of Calvin from my body. I scowled into the steam as I rinsed his touch from my hair. He didn’t deserve what he took, but I was lost to him anyway. For him I came in a burst of wild energy, like a wave smashing fast and hard against rocks.

Everything is still a moment and then Calvin’s leaning in the library doorway. His hair is disheveled, and his normally flawless suit is rumpled. “Nobody should have to work this late on a weekend, not even me,” he says as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar. “What are you doing up?”

I’m suddenly speechless, so I just lift the book in my lap and show it to him.

“A true bookworm,” he says with a lopsided grin. It’s half-assed, but it’s the first genuine one he’s ever given me. Without my camera on me, I’m mentally memorizing this moment. “That one should keep you occupied for a while.”

“You’ve read it?”

“You look surprised.”

“You don’t seem like the book-reading type.”

He laughs. “I don’t sleep well either.”

“You have demons too.” Even before I finish the sentence, I cover my mouth as though that might bring the words back. “I’m sorry.”

He enters the room slowly with his hands deep in his pockets. My head is vertical when he reaches my chair. I recoil as his fingertips sweep hair from my face. “Do I scare you, Sparrow?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His fingers graze down the side of my face, and, shamefully, I incline my head into his hand. It’s clear by my heated exhale how badly I want to be touched.

“I’m sorry I’ve never told you,” he says with a pause, “that you’re beautiful.”

My lids are leaden under his adoration. In the wake of his ghostly touch is pebbled skin, a changing of tides, a carnal need born of something different than lust. If he were to hurt me in this second, I would forgive him just for this feeling.

“Beautiful?”

“If I were . . . normal, maybe . . .” His hand is cupping my jaw now.

I want to look into his eyes, but I’m afraid doing so would end this moment. “What are you hiding, Calvin?”

“Nothing, Sparrow. Everything you see is everything I am.”

He’s warning me with what I know is truth. His hand withdraws, leaving me bereft, so I let myself look. I didn’t notice before that he’s wearing his glasses. There’s no emotion in his eyes.

“I should get to bed,” I say before I can find out if I’ve done something to upset him. When I stand, he doesn’t move. We’re so close, our distance can only be measured by heat. I keep my eyes fixed on the floor and swallow so loudly it makes me blush. I don’t know why I’m suddenly in trouble, but I know where it will lead. “I mean, if I’m allowed.”

“Are you asking my permission?”

I nod down. His hand contracts into a fist, and I brace myself for ripped clothing, or some variation of the other night’s performance. The surface of my skin burns in a way that I’m certain I’m turned inside out, and I don’t know if I’ll scream or melt when he touches me.

“I like you like this,” he says.

It’s not until he steps back that I exhale the breath I didn’t know I’d seized. “That’s it?” I ask.

“Obedience will get you far, Cataline. It’s what I’ve been trying to teach you.” He turns around to exit the library but stops and looks back. “That is, unless you were hoping for something else? It’s late, but I’m always up for an impromptu lesson.”

“No,” I choke out, shaking my head.

He answers with an exaggerated smirk. “Okay, then. Goodnight.”

In bed, I can’t keep my fingers out of my underwear. When I pull them out and smell them, I smell him. I taste myself for him, gliding my fingertips from the back of my tongue to the tip. The night he took me from the street, I turned from person to possession. Now I worry that when he entered my body and stole what I wouldn’t give him, I became his possession from the inside. I pretend my hands are Calvin’s and let them take me somewhere I want to be—even if it’s only in my mind, even if I would never admit it: with him.